


Moving Day

by rebelxxwaltz



Category: Longmire (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Post-Season/Series 03 Finale, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-24
Updated: 2014-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-18 14:24:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2351582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelxxwaltz/pseuds/rebelxxwaltz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Walt helps Vic move to her new place after Sean leaves town for good. Post season 3, Walt/Vic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Apparently my writing is currently out of control and I've produced another 13,000+ words of Longmire fic. This one has a bit of angst, a LOT of fluff, and some other assorted 'goodness'. ;D

**Moving Day  
** **Part I**

He felt her hovering in the doorframe before he saw her.

It was a symptom of the screaming, un-ignorable sense of physical awareness he'd been feeling toward his deputy for a while now, at least since that day in the hospital where they'd been clinging onto each other for dear life. He'd welcomed that fierce embrace, initiated it even, and hadn't felt a speck of guilt in regards to her absent husband who was somewhere down along the corridor on the small ward dealing with the myriad traumas of the day on his own. No; the guilt hadn't come 'til later, and Walt had more than compensated for his momentary lapse of conscience since that day.

He felt guilty when he drove Vic and Sean home from the hospital, leaving them to deal with battered bodies and a broken marriage while he went to find that needle and thread and dull his own aches with a beer or four.

He felt guilty when he received the divorce papers from Ruby— not because Vic's marriage was over but because all he could feel was panic over the fact that nothing was holding her here now, that after all this he might still lose her.

The self-condemnation that day was twofold, because he also knew that Sean's insistence that Walt serve the divorce papers was the younger man's way of telling him that  _yes_ , he considered Walt to be a responsible party in the breakdown of that relationship. He had helped contribute to the end of their marriage, so now he should take his share of the consequences. Sean might not have been a physically imposing type of guy, but there was more than one way to deliver a knockout blow and this one had caught Walt on the blind side.

And yes, he felt guilty for accidentally punching Vic during the confrontation with Nighthorse. It was just another example of how people got hurt when he let his feelings get the best of him, which seemed to be an overarching theme in his life recently.  _He_  hit  _her_ , and yet she was the one tending to his wounds just a short while later. He wanted to let her take care of him, and he wanted to return the favor. Then he wanted to bring her out to his place, take her to bed, and not let her out of his sight or out of his arms for a solid week.

But he couldn't do that, could he? So the cycle of guilt continued.

There had only been one thing he  _could_  do, and he'd be lying to himself yet again if he didn't admit that it was at least loosely related. When it came to Walt finally finding the strength to let Martha go there were a lot of factors that contributed, and his growing affection for Vic was one of them. He couldn't spend the rest of his life shielding himself from others by hiding behind that box of ashes. It wasn't fair to Martha, not to Henry or Cady or Vic or to himself. The only way he could truly honor his departed wife was to set her spirit free and avenge her, then move on with his life and start letting people in… he knew that last step might prove hardest of all.

Deputy Moretti was in front of his desk now, tapping one booted foot impatiently as she waited for his acknowledgement. He'd completely lost the thread of whatever document he was examining as soon as she darkened his doorstep, so he finally stopped pretending his attention was on anything other than her. He raised his head to make eye contact. "What's up, Vic?"

"Hey." She crossed her arms over her chest, rocking on her heels with a nervous energy as a wisp of blonde hair fell loose from her ponytail. "Listen, I really hate to ask this, but I need an extra day off."

He knew her well enough to realize she wasn't finished, so he simply leaned back in his chair and waited with one eyebrow raised.

"I know it's not the best time with everything going on and Branch still recovering. But nobody's been shot, stabbed, run over, or had seven types of shit kicked out of them in almost a week and I really need to get the rest of my stuff out of the house before my landlord flips and ends our lucky streak."

"You're moving?" He was genuinely surprised.

She gave a sarcastic  _way-to-state-the-obvious_  nod. "Yep."

"I thought Sean already left for Australia? I guess I just assumed you'd keep the house."

Releasing a long sigh, she flopped into the chair across from him. "There are too many bad memories in that place, Walt. I could've stayed, but I would've just kept thinking about all the fights and pathetic attempts to fix our problems with sex… plus, it's too big for only me. I'm never home anyway with you dragging my ass all over hell's half-acre, so I found something smaller."

Walt refused to wonder when the last time had been, that Vic and Sean had tried to repair their relationship with sex.

"Okay." He paused thoughtfully. "Why don't you take tomorrow? I'll get Ferg in early and make sure Ruby doesn't call you for anything short of World War III."

At last, she gave a relieved smile. "Thanks, Walt. I'm sure I can get everything moved or junked in one day if I start first thing in the morning."

It was out of his mouth before he had time to think it over. "Need a hand? Two trucks'd be faster than one."

Now Vic was the one that was surprised. "Aren't you a bit busy dealing with Barlow and Nighthorse? I know how important this is to you, Walt. I would never ask—"

"It's mainly paperwork at this point, and Cady's out in Denver sorting the rest with Fales and the Denver PD. Not much more I can do 'til she gets back." He looked down at his hands. "To be honest I could use the distraction."

They looked at each other for a drawn out moment.

"Well I'd love the help— I'll even throw in a few Rainiers to sweeten the deal."

He tapped his fingertips on the desk, an unintentional nervous gesture. "You're on."

**xxxxx**

Standing among the small sea of labeled cardboard boxes with her hands on her hips, Victoria Moretti glanced at the generic wall clock that had come with the house for the third time in five minutes and wondered why,  _why_  she had butterflies in her stomach like she was waiting to be picked up for a date.

_He is coming to help you move boxes and lift heavy furniture. This. Is. Not. A. Date._

Her head understood the facts, but her body had other ideas when it came to Walt. Squashing those thoughts, she kicked a narrow pathway through the boxes so the doorway was at least somewhat clear. At the very least she knew she was getting a capable helper— any man who could ransack his own office and flip a desk that heavy could certainly handle a flatscreen TV and a few cluttered boxes of kitchenware.

Fidgeting with the slightly frayed hem of her old Philadelphia Flyers t-shirt, Vic abruptly sat down on an upturned crate and leaned the side of her face against her hand. She worried a little about herself, because of the relief she felt now that Sean was gone. There had been no tears shed on her part at the final dissolution of her marriage, and the best she could manage was to feel a sense of failure and a smattering of regret.

The fact that she couldn't bring herself to actually care about the relationship itself made her feel like a bad person, which was not the same— Vic struggled against another recollection, of a motel bar in dusty Arizona— it was not the same as being a  _bad girl_. It was worse, probably. But it's not as if Sean had shown much hesitation in moving halfway across the world to distance himself.

Sean was out of the picture, and Ed Gorski was gone, too. In the end she had to give Ed credit for being a man of his word. At the hospital he had told her that all he really wanted was to watch her have her life torn apart, to see her lose everything that was important to her. And she knew, the real reason he left her and Sean in the Granada on that dark and winding road was that he realized he had gotten his wish.

He'd seen her at Chance's mercy, unable to do anything to save herself or Sean other than follow Walt's orders and reluctantly entrust their safety to Ed. For such a capable police officer, this level of helplessness was unthinkable.

Surely he had also noticed the way it broke her just that much more, having to leave the heroic sheriff there alone with a man who had at least a 50/50 shot at killing him. It must have been so pathetically  _obvious_ , the way she stared out the window, betraying the depth of how important Walt was to her.

And when she'd ordered Gorski to stop the car at the sight of Walt's truck by the accident scene, her erstwhile stalker must have known that his triumph was complete. It had come to the point where Vic would abandon her mentally and physically devastated husband, willing to throw away any hope of salvaging that relationship in order to speed back to Walt Longmire's side— showing by default that if Chance had actually managed to kill Walt she would rather take the risk and die herself than consider the prospect of living a life without him.

Truly, there was nothing else Ed Gorski could have said or done that would have defeated Vic more completely than the events of that day.

Somehow, they had all survived, but everything was different after that. It wasn't just Walt's arms wrapped around her at the hospital or that failed last ditch attempt at intimacy with Sean. It was the way she looked at life and thought about the future and what she wanted in it. Of course, wanting things and actually being able to have them were two entirely separate concepts…

Vic was broken out of her dark musings by a firm but measured knock at the door. She gave one of the boxes a final kick with a sneakered foot, in part to avoid jumping to answer the door too eagerly.  _Get it together, Moretti._

When she saw Walt standing on her doorstep in perfectly worn-in old Levis and a slightly faded dark blue t-shirt she knew she didn't have it together  _at all_. An already hot day was suddenly growing hotter, and it was only 8:30 in the morning.

She bit the inside of her cheek and perched one hand on her hip in an attempt to look nonchalant. "Hey, cowboy. Ready to rope some boxes?"

"At your service, ma'am." Walt tipped his hat and smiled, actually  _smiled_ , with teeth and dimples and the little crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

Opening the screen door to let him in, she pointedly did  _not_  stare at his bare arms or the shifting planes of his back as he walked past her. Wouldn't that be an awesome freaking headline?  _LOCAL DEPUTY SUFFERS STROKE WHILE OGLING SHERIFF_ _'_ _S MUSCLES_. Yeah, great.

She looked at him again, hat in his right hand, just standing there casually appearing even taller than usual against the backdrop of short brown cardboard squares that littered her living room. Soon he would be using those muscles to help her lift things.

This was turning into a very interesting day.

**xxxxx**


	2. Chapter 2

**Moving Day  
** **Part II**

Vic's new place turned out to be a decent-sized second floor apartment at the quieter end of what residents of Durant claimed to qualify as 'town.'

It was situated above an insurance office and featured nicer than average hardwood floors and several south-facing windows that let in an abundance of natural light. The entryway was at street-level with a small vestibule at the bottom of the stairs, perfectly equipped for typical Wyoming jacket-hanging and boot storage. The interior stairway led up to the main living area, which was separated from the kitchen by an island counter. Vic had hired a moving company a few days prior to deal with the truly heavy and cumbersome items, so most of the furniture was already here and the layout of the room was beginning to take shape.

A narrow hallway led toward the back of the building and housed the bedroom, bathroom, and one smaller room that could be put to another purpose. Currently it was serving as home to boxes and random items whose fates were somewhat uncertain. There was also a pile of electronic equipment and a small desk, giving Walt the impression that Vic intended to eventually turn the room into an office of sorts.

The kitchen appeared to be well equipped with all the modern amenities— including a six pack of his preferred beer in the fridge— but Walt made a mental note to check the water and gas hookups before leaving his deputy to her own devices. The smaller kitchen appliances had been stashed in the first set of boxes they'd transported today, so the coffee pot and toaster were already situated and a box full to bursting with pots and pans and an assortment of utensils was perched at one end of the island so they could unpack the basics. He'd already dealt with the plates and cutlery, which had been stuffed haphazardly into another rattling box. He half-smiled, lifting the microwave onto an appropriate space on the countertop. For some reason, Walt wasn't the least bit surprised that his deputy wasn't the most organized of packers.

Another feature of the new domicile was that it was a mere stone's throw from the station, which would be all-around convenient for Vic and also handy in weather emergencies and the like. He had nearly made a comment about how this would be a far better place to take the occasional sorely needed snooze than the cot in the jail cells with its poky springs and soundtrack of unavoidable ambient station noise. Then he realized how it might sound, for him to suggest the idea of himself visiting her home for such an intimate purpose as sleep. Even if he was referring to a quick nap on the sofa, it was far too easy to take the vision a step further and imagine himself sharing her bed.

As an abstract concept Walt would admit that it was something he had imagined often, had dreamt about in surprising detail. The reality, however, was a lot more complicated. He knew what he wanted, and he was under the impression that she felt the same way— there were all the looks, the casual touches, the ever-present tension. But taking that step would change absolutely everything, and although they seemed to be in a constant state of moving toward each other he wasn't sure if they were ready for the next level. Then again, who ever really  _was_?

There was a clattering on the stairs and he peered over from the threshold of the open-plan kitchen to see Vic hefting a long, awkwardly shaped box over one shoulder. As she reached the top and stepped into the room she wobbled, teetering beneath the poorly distributed weight. Walt was by her side in three long strides, stepping in close and carefully relieving her of the cumbersome burden.

"Whoa there. Where do you want this?" It wasn't heavy so much as incredibly unwieldy. He shrugged to one side, readjusting the parcel and using his left hand to steady it.

She blew out a long breath, swiping the back of her hand across her forehead. "In the other room, I guess. At least it's the last box— wasn't sure If I was going to junk it or keep it."

"What is it?" Walt started toward the hallway with her following in his wake to keep up the conversation. He couldn't see her face, but somehow managed to  _hear_ her rolling her eyes.

"It's all of the hunting and fishing equipment my charming ex-husband bought when we first moved to Wyoming. He thought living out here was going to be like something out of one of those lame ass adventure novels for pre-teen boys."

Propping the oblong box in the corner of the small room, Walt gave her a look that invited her to continue.

Vic leaned against the doorframe. "Needless to say, he never used any of it. Not so much as one damn lure. When we got here in late summer, work was all over him. He spent five weeks away in the first two months we were here, and by the time things settled down it was the dead of winter and Sean had suddenly lost interest in the outdoorsy life." She snorted. "Kinda ironic, when you consider how much time  _I_  was spending trudging over heavy snowpack with you."

She was looking at him wistfully, expression something nearly tender, and Walt was sure there was a deeper message hidden in her statement. Something to do with just how quickly Vic and Sean had grown apart once Walt was in the picture. He found himself suddenly nervous, unsure of what to do with his hands, and obviously unable to beat his escape from the increasingly crowded room with her blocking the only exit.

He cleared his throat. "If they're all in good condition you could sell 'em. Lot of outfitters in the area buy used."

"Guess so," she said with a non-committal tilt of her head. "Looks like we're all done. You want a beer?"

"It's five o'clock somewhere."

"Yeah? Well it's six o'clock here. I think we've earned it."

Now that was a sentiment he couldn't argue with. He followed her back to the main living area, eyes fixed on the wisps of hair at the nape of her neck in a bid to train his eyes away from the swing of her hips in tight black capri pants at the periphery of his vision. Walt was sure the familiar heft of a beer in his hand would calm his prickling nerves. He ran a hand over the back of his head, likely disarranging his hair even further than usual as Vic stepped down from the slightly raised floor of the kitchen and passed close to hand him a Rainier and flop onto the sofa with her own.

The far end of that same sofa was the only other surface not covered with boxes and therefore currently available for sitting. Walt perched there, gradually relaxing against the cushions as his muscles unwound themselves from the exertions of the day. After one sip of the cold beer he realized he'd been remiss, and held the bottle out toward Vic with the neck pointed toward her.

"Cheers, to your new digs."

Returning the gesture, she smiled and pulled her knees up to sit more comfortably, facing him. "To my new life, actually. Cheers, Walt."

Her words hung heavy in the air as they sat in silence, both drinking their beers and wondering just what that might  _really_  mean.

**xxxxx**

Vic couldn't remember the last time she'd had this much fun. They might only be halfway through their first beer, but she'd managed to break the weirdly charged silence between them by talking a bit about her plans for the apartment. She needed new curtains, definitely, and some of those cool barstools for her kitchen island. She owned a dining room table, but it was in storage— she'd inherited it from a pushy great-aunt, and while she sort of liked the old fashioned styling it was too large to use in this apartment.

Now, a smiling Walt was telling her stories about his days as one of Lucian Connally's deputies. It was so refreshing to hear him talk about something lighthearted, and she found herself laughing out loud at the idea of Lucian needing nine stitches after referring to ex-boxer-turned-burglary-suspect Ricky Bolenbaugh's wife as "Little Ms. Bowling Ball."

They had ordered a pizza, realizing that they hadn't bothered stopping for lunch. In their line of work they seemed to go  _way_  too many days in a row without eating properly, so they'd asked for a salad, too. Vic was skeptical, but Walt claimed he really did know where to get a decent pie in this God-forsaken town. At least they delivered— she wasn't interested in moving  _or_  letting this relaxed and tousled version of Walt out of her sight.

He had borrowed her cellphone to order the pizza, and had also taken the opportunity to check in with Ruby. Apparently Ferg was out on a probably bogus vandalism call, and there hadn't been so much as a stolen stick of gum in terms of crime for the entire rest of the day. Cady had phoned the station from Denver, but insisted that it wasn't urgent. Vic respected Walt's diligence and sense of duty, and it warmed her heart to see the set of his shoulders change, tension draining away as he realized it was alright for him to unwind for a change… she could get used to the sight of him, no hat, legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankle as he leaned back against the couch cushions.

 _I bet I could get used to a lot of things,_ she told herself in a playful warning tone.

A lull in the conversation found them finishing up their beers as they waited for the pizza, and they sat in companionable silence. Vic ran her pinky finger along the edge of the beer bottle, thinking.

"Thanks for today, Walt. I couldn't have done it without you."

There was that smile again, the one that made her lower abdomen feel fluttery and tight.

"Sure you could have. Just might've taken a bit longer, that's all."

Vic looked at her feet, which were perched in the center of the cushion that separated his part of the sofa and hers. If she stretched her legs out straight, she could easily touch his thigh with her foot. "Flattery will get you nowhere."

He leveled her with a serious gaze. "It's not flattery. It's just the truth."

The earnestness of his statement caused her to grin and shake her head. "Yeah? Well maybe I didn't want to do it without you, even if I could."

One of his bare forearms was stretched along the back of the sofa, and his fingers seemed to flex involuntarily. His eyes smoldered, there was just no other way to describe it. The charged atmosphere was back with a vengeance, but he seemed determined to keep it all in check.

She relented, breaking the intense eye-contact. "You want another beer?"

The sudden change of tone seemed to catch him by surprise. "Probably shouldn't— need to drive home later."

Raising an eyebrow, she lifted herself from the sofa. "Two beers is nothing."

"On an empty stomach?"

"Pizza's going to be here soon, so it won't be empty for long."

He bowed his head in acquiescence, acknowledging her obvious wisdom. "You win."

"I like hearing you say that." She smiled somewhat wolfishly.

Walt shot her a good-natured glare in response. "Well don't get used to it."

Vic busied herself in the kitchen a bit, figuring they could use the space after that intense exchange. She found some forks for the salad and even a pizza cutter in case they needed it. She grabbed two more beers from the fridge, but couldn't seem to figure out what Walt had done with her plates. That was one nice thing about a wide-open living area— it put guests in easy shouting distance.

"Hey Walt? What did you do with my plates?"

"Should be in the cabinet, above the microwave I think…"

She opened and closed a couple of the cabinets, not having noticed that his voice was moving closer. She found shallow bowls they could use for the salad, and finally spotted the plates on the top shelf of the same cabinet. Reaching up on tiptoe, her fingertips could only reach the bottom of the stack. "Who the hell puts their plates on the top shelf?"

A low chuckle emanated from directly behind her, and Vic froze as she saw one of Walt's arms enter the corner of her vision. "I shouldn't've put them up so high. Forgot how short you are." He snagged two of the plates with ease, leaning so close she could feel the heat from his body.

" _Short_? Now listen here, mister—"

The plates were still in his hand as she half-turned toward him, her shoulder brushing against his chest. She looked up into his face at the same moment he peered down into hers, and that was precisely when they lost control of the situation. Vic absently noticed the sound of the plates clattering onto the wooden cutting board as a rushing noise filled her senses. She felt the countertop digging into the small of her back as Walt edged in, wrapping one strong arm around her waist and yanking her against him as their lips met for the first time.

 _Finally_. It was all she could think, as the ability to form sentences had fled the moment his mouth claimed hers in an insistent and ardent kiss. Her hands dragged up his chest, one bracing at his shoulder while the other slid up and over his stubbled jaw to rake into the hair just behind his ear. Her eyes drifted shut and she pushed up into the kiss, causing their chests to rub together as the contact deepened. Walt's large fingers dug into her back when the tip of Vic's tongue traced along the seam of his lips. Then both their mouths were open, molding rhythmically as his unoccupied hand cradled the side of her face.

It felt so good, so right, better than she had ever imagined— and she had imagined a  _lot_. Eventually they both needed more air than they were able to take in through their overtaxed noses, and their lips wrenched apart on a shared gasp. Walt was looking at her with obvious affection, and astonishment bordering on panic. His fingers traced over her cheek, his thumb just brushing the corner of her mouth.

"Vic, I—"

She pressed two fingers against his lips. Vic wasn't ready to let this moment end, and she'd be damned if she was about to let him ruin it by becoming  _talkative_  all of a sudden. No, she wouldn't allow him to backpedal from this. "Shhh. Just—"

Breathing shakily, she removed her fingers and replaced them with her mouth. She kept it soft, placing a couple small kisses and then brushing parted lips back and forth before gently drawing Walt's bottom lip between both of her own. Feeling the rapid rise and fall of his chest where her right hand lay over his heart, she almost started to worry at his lack of response. But then he angled his head just so, slanting so that his mouth fit perfectly against hers.

In the midst of their renewed kiss he made a rumbling "Mmmph" sound in the back of his throat that  _did_  things to her, not least of which was to make her knees turn to jelly. Walt held her tighter as she leaned into him, and she luxuriated in the feeling of his hand sliding into her hair and carefully pulling the tresses loose from their ponytail. God he was good at this, and she had hopes of spending months,  _years_ , finding out exactly how talented Walt Longmire was.

Running her hands over the muscles in his back, she contemplated the possibility of getting horizontal as soon as humanly possible. And hopefully naked, too, although she didn't want to scare him off by being too aggressive. Maybe she didn't need to overthink it— Walt's kisses were passionate and sensual, and now his hand had drifted down to her ass and he was drawing her in and grinding the impressive bulge in his Levis against the junction of her hip and thigh. She released a throaty "Ohhh," and her eyes fluttered open to find him watching her with keen interest. Walt kissed the side of Vic's face, and dragged his lips over to tease the sensitive skin beneath her earlobe.

It was at that point that an unfamiliar buzzing noise rang through the apartment. They both jumped, startled out of their rapidly escalating embrace. They stared at each other, breathing heavily, still standing  _so_  close. After a few moments the buzzer sounded again.

Victoria Moretti silently cursed the gods of the Italian culinary universe— their fucking  _pizza_  had arrived, five minutes earlier than expected.

**xxxxx  
** **xxxxx**


	3. Chapter 3

**Moving Day  
** **Part III**

He left her standing in the kitchen without saying a word. What was there to say? "Hey Vic, there's the pizza we ordered before I started trying to swallow your face. I'd better go pay for it even though I'd rather have you for dinner." Walt cringed, bounding down the short staircase and trying to even out his breathing. What the hell was he doing? Surely he was too old to be going at it in the kitchen like a horny teenager whose parents were out for the night?

Panicking for a moment, Walt was relieved to find his wallet still resting in the back pocket of his jeans. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, considering he seemed to  _maybe_  have just enough sense left to keep the rebelliously persuasive erection inside his shorts.

 _Sense? Who are you kidding?_ If the doorbell hadn't buzzed when it had, who knew what he and his deputy would be doing right now? Probably wearing a lot less clothes, for a start. How could he have let himself lose control of the situation like that? It gave a new meaning to the phrase 's _aved by the bell'…_

Out of habit he peered through the peephole just to be safe before opening the door. When he saw who was there Walt almost laughed, he really almost did. Of all the ironies, on tonight of all nights, it just had to be Jamie who came to deliver the pizza.

**xxxxx**

Vic slumped against the counter as she watched him spin on his heel and stalk toward the staircase, running a nervous hand over the flushed skin on the back of his neck as he went. She felt a certain sense of satisfaction, somewhere in the floaty cocktail of sensations that she was drowning in, that she had been the one to make Walt blush all the way to the tips of his ears.

No words had been forthcoming when they were interrupted. A few choice ones had been caught in her throat, of the type she would generally save for the privacy of the bedroom— the PG-rated version of which would probably roughly translate as  _Wow._ Just…  _Wow._

She could practically feel the ghosts of his fingertips digging into the t-shirt covered flesh at the small of her back, gripping her left butt cheek like a man who most assuredly knew what he was doing. If it were up to Vic she would open the window and fling that goddamned pizza out into the street like a frisbee, uncaring of which fine resident of Durant, Wyoming might end up wearing it as an extremely gooey hat. Then she would frogmarch Walt Longmire into her bedroom and not let go of him until at least sunrise of the following day. Preferably high noon, if he displayed the sort of surprising stamina she suspected he might.

Regaining her footing, Vic touched a hand to her hair and noticed that it was half in and half out of the ponytail she'd worn for most of the day. She finished the job that Walt had begun, letting her hair fall in waves around her face. What was taking him so long? God— she hadn't scared him off to the point where he'd taken the pizza as an excuse to run out on her, had she? She fiddled with the utensils on the counter, jumping as she heard the downstairs door swing shut again, followed by his steady booted footsteps on the stairs. Their relationship had changed like night and day in the past five minutes, and Vic honestly wasn't sure quite what to expect from Walt next.

**xxxxx**

"…I swear, Walt, I didn't know anything about those kids selling acid down by the railroad tracks. You know that's not my scene."

"Jamie." Walt held up a hand, trying to stem the unsolicited flow of words.

"I just— I really need to get back, there are three more pizzas waiting and Carson didn't show up for his shift tonight and—"

Walt sighed heavily. " _Jamie!_ I  _just want the pizza,_ okay?"

"—I mean I can tell you a few of their names, I guess… wait. What?"

"Just give me the pizza." Walt's eyebrows scrunched thoughtfully. "Give me the pizza and then call me at the station first thing tomorrow to let me in on whatever the  _hell_ it is you're ramblin' about. Alright?"

"Awww Walt, now come on—"

Walt wrestled the pizza and salad out of Jamie's grasp and presented him with a fifty dollar bill and an uncompromising glare.

Jamie looked at his shoes. "Shit. Okay, but—"

"Goodnight, Jamie."

Walt shut the door, pressing his forehead against it for a long moment. What the hell was going on with his life, these days? If it wasn't one thing it was another, but right now his main focus was on the woman upstairs and the sudden change in their relationship. He had no idea what he was going to say or do when he was face to face with her again, but Walt Longmire was certainly no coward. Adjusting his grip on the food parcels, he straightened his shoulders and climbed back toward Vic, one measured step at a time.

**xxxxx**

When he marched back into the room, pizza in hand, she immediately sensed by his demeanor that he was going to be evasive. Vic briefly entertained the option of treating him as a hostile witness, but cuffing him to the furniture didn't seem all that appealing unless there was going to be kissing involved.

She watched him walk up to the opposite side of the kitchen island and set the food cartons on the countertop, and when he finally raised his head to look at her Vic found herself wondering how long they'd both been in love with each other without being able to admit it. She would love to say that she never thought about it until that night with Lizzie Ambrose at Walt's cabin, but she knew that would be a lie. In all honesty it had probably started on the day they met…

_x_

_She made the appointment with a woman named Ruby, and it had been a process. Fortunately with her husband tied up with work and out of town for days on end Victoria Moretti didn't have a hell of a lot to do other than watch daytime talk shows and repeatedly call the Absaroka County Sheriff's Office in a desperate bid to be rescued from the clutches of Jerry Springer and the ever-charming Judge Judy._

_Sheriff Walt Longmire sure seemed to be out of the office a lot. With that cowboy name Vic wasn't sure whether to expect some washed-up good ol' boy who would rather be off eating free donuts somewhere rather than doing actual police work or a John Wayne caricature, wandering the farther reaches of the county with nobody but his trusty horse for company._

_He was even absent from the premises on the day of their meeting. Ruby was solicitous, offering coffee and suggesting that she sit and wait in the main station room. There were three desks there, all currently vacant, with one being more empty than the others and lacking a nameplate. She sat in the adjacent chair, wondering whether this might turn out to be her desk if she played her cards right._

_After waiting for twenty minutes Vic began to feel impatient and started pacing the room, casually looking at some of the rustic artifacts on the wall and trying not to be freaked out by the taxidermy— she'd realized early on that if she was going to adjust to Wyoming life it was going to involve a much closer relationship with disembodied animal heads than she'd previously been comfortable with. Something on top of the other desk near the windows caught her eye, and curiosity got the better of her._

_There were two evidence bags, one containing a handgun and the other several smashed up bullet casings. Vic squinted, picking up the bag of spent ammunition and holding it in the light to view it more clearly. If these were evidence from a crime, it must be a very unusual one. She was so distracted by her examination that she didn't even notice that anyone had entered the room until a smooth, deep voice rumbled her way._

" _What do you think?"_

_She jumped, startled, and immediately relinquished her grip on the items she most certainly should not be tampering with. "Sorry, I didn't mean to—" She was brought up short by the sight of his tall frame standing by the coat rack._

_The hat— people really wore them out here in the west, apparently— came off, and a penetrating blue gaze came up, pinning her with slow and quiet interest. He stepped around the divider and she took in the slightly rumpled denim shirt and weathered boots. His whole appearance was pleasantly lived-in, and he was certainly younger than she had expected. What was he, 45? A really well-aged 50? He sidled up, and she absently noticed a worn leather and cozy flannel scent about him._

" _Miss Moretti, isn't it? Walt Longmire."_

_He proffered his hand and she shook it, remembering what her father had taught her about the proper way for a cop to shake hands. She had practiced on all four of her brothers until the firmness was just right and complaints of pinched knuckles had ceased._

" _Just Vic, please. 'Miss Moretti' gives me bad memories of Sunday school."_

" _Vic…?"_

_He was sort of cute when he was confused. "Short for Victoria," she shrugged. "It never really suited me."_

_Tilting his head to the side as he regarded her, he almost looked like he wanted to disagree. Instead he just quirked an eyebrow and motioned toward the items on the desk beside her. "I saw you looking at the evidence. What were you thinking about?"_

_Sighing, she picked up the bag of casings again. "Well… I don't know what sort of crime you're investigating, but these casings are unusual. They're all fragmented, disintegrated almost, like what you get with frangible bullets. Glaser Safety Slugs, maybe?"_

_There was a sheet of paper in his hand that she hadn't noticed until he held it up. "Funny, that's exactly what the ballistics report says. The crime is a murder, by the way."_

_She forgot herself for a moment and made a derisive snorting noise. "I doubt you could murder someone very successfully with ammo like this. What did the autopsy look like?"_

_He was giving her a look, and she wasn't sure whether he was irritated or slightly impressed._

" _Sorry. You probably can't comment on an ongoing investigation, right?"_

_There was a long pause. "What kind of police work did you do in Philadelphia, again?"_

" _Homicide. I did a concentration in ballistics at the academy… you get a lot of gun related crime out here in the middle of nowhere?"_

_For the first time he actually smiled, with an attractive row of white teeth, and Vic felt her stomach flip over. "We sure do love our firearms in Wyoming. You see a lot of fatal shootings back east?"_

_She leaned against the desk. "Some. In point of fact people are just as likely to get bludgeoned to death with a bowling trophy as they are to be shot. If all the murderers used guns it would have made my job a hell of a lot easier."_

_He paused again, and she imagined communicating with this man could involve a lot of protracted silences. "Well, maybe you can make_ _**my** _ _job easier. What do you say, Deputy Moretti?"_

_Five minutes later they were out the door, shiny new badge pinned to her belt and poor Ruby left to take care of the hiring paperwork as they hurried off to the autopsy. Trailing behind the sheriff Vic already knew that she'd be willing to follow Walt Longmire almost anywhere._

_x_

That had been the start of it. They'd solved the case together and moved straight on to the next without hesitation, and it had been a matter of weeks before Branch had called her 'teacher's pet' for the first time. Initially Vic assumed she liked spending time with Walt so much due to their surprising professional compatibility— it was something she'd never actually experienced before, working this well with someone, and she learned so much just by watching him every day.

Of course she was also lonely with Sean away on business so often, and she figured it was natural for her to gravitate toward her co-workers and focus on her own career. That was what she kept telling herself right up until the day she realized that she preferred Walt's company to Sean's even when her husband  _was_  home, and after that she didn't tell herself anything about the situation for a long while.

And now here they were, and Vic was walking out of the kitchen toward where Walt was standing. He didn't move away as she half-expected him to do, in fact he seemed to be leaning in. One of his hands was on the counter, and the look he was giving her burned her insides a thousand times worse than that feeling of butterflies on the day they met. His musculature appeared to be wound tight as a spring, body language screaming fight-or-flight while his eyes raked over her face.

She stepped closer, invading his personal space and wishing that he would just take her in his arms again. Instead he reached out and took her hand, drawing her nearer, and Vic would be damned if she knew whether he was about to kiss her or if was getting ready to say that it had all been a terrible mistake.

**xxxxx**


	4. Chapter 4

**Moving Day  
** **Part IV**

They had come through so much to arrive at this moment and Walt wondered if maybe, just maybe, this was finally the right time for them.

As he dragged Vic closer his free hand came up to trace a line from the bridge of her nose to the edge of her cheekbone, reminded of the pain he had so recklessly inflicted while aiming for Nighthorse. That day seemed so long ago, when in reality it was barely two weeks. It felt like a lifetime. He had lost control of his emotions and she had paid the price. Was this the same? Were they running the risk of hurting each other more?

Maybe Vic could sense his uncertainty. One of her hands slid up to cover his, smooth fingers holding his hand against her face. Walt leaned in, pressing his forehead against hers and feeling the connection. Vic's right arm slid around his waist and they stayed for a long moment in that unmoving embrace.

He thought about it, realizing that he had probably been trying not to fall in love with Vic since the day they met. There had been too many reasons why they couldn't be together and his heart was too battered, not strong enough to offer to another person after everything that had happened.

And yet she had been one of the things that had healed him. She was there every step of the way, knowing when to push and when to leave him be. There were times where she was stubborn, yes, but he only gained courage from her intractable knack for propelling him forward.

There had been a day, though, when Walt realized he had fallen hard and should probably quit lying to himself. He'd been a man in love long before Lizzie Ambrose had, somewhat rightfully, up and thrown it in his face. No, it had been Omar— of all people— who could be thanked for stripping his feelings bare.

_x_

_It had been a bad day for absolutely everyone involved. Murder in the mountains was a lot more glamorous on television than it was in real life, or so Walt had surmised._

_The weather was fortunately clear but extremely cold, and there was no way they would be able to drive in far enough to safely recover the body on foot. The conversation with Omar regarding the use of his helicopter had been brief and filled with grumbles about not being paid, but the prospect of an adventure featuring a certain feisty blonde deputy seemed to provide sufficient enticement._

_After less than an hour of traversing the rocky and snow-covered landscape, they had found the deceased exactly where the surprisingly civic minded out-of-town hiker had reported they would. They cased the scene, took photographs, and gathered what evidence they could before disturbing the frosty tableau in order to take the body with them. The dead guy was a heavy son of a gun, but they were managing well enough with the makeshift stretcher between the three of them right up until they were about two hundred yards from the clearing where they'd landed the helicopter._

_There was an outcropping of rocks that had been partly hidden by the snow, and it seemed to have escaped Vic's notice as she marched along beside them with the pack containing evidence and the victim's belongings slung over one shoulder and the camera hanging around her neck._

_Vic wasn't typically the type of woman who complained over minor injuries. She was a tough cookie, always carrying on with the job at hand. And so it followed that when Walt heard her pained yelp and turned his head to see her crumpled on the ground and holding onto her ankle, he could feel the alarm build in the pit of his stomach and creep up to settle at the back of his throat._

" _Shit," Vic whimpered out through gritted teeth._

_Her eyes were watering, and Walt wasn't sure if it was from the frigid air or the pain she seemed to be experiencing. Regardless, he never wanted to see her in tears. It was his responsibility to protect her, and he found himself going to great lengths to remember that this was a duty that fell to him only in his capacity as her superior officer._

_The two men set down their burden, and Omar reached Vic's side first. He dropped to his knees beside her, and Walt could hear him murmuring in a comforting tone. Omar touched Vic's shoulder and Walt unaccountably bristled. He was clearly trying to be helpful, but Walt couldn't help suspecting an ulterior motive. This was_ _**Omar** _ _after all— Walt shot the other man a warning look that appeared to be casually disregarded as he crouched down on Vic's other side._

_Taking slow, deliberate breaths, Vic attempted to rotate her ankle and winced in reaction. Her foot had become wedged between two rocks and twisted around as she fell. Her boot had provided some small amount of protection, and she seemed sure it wasn't broken. On the other hand, she admitted that it 'hurt like a bitch.'_

_Of course he wanted to examine the injury, but it was blindingly cold and Vic flat-out refused to remove her boot and heavy sock. Treatment would have to wait until they made their way back to civilization, a situation that didn't please Walt one bit. Still, she had a point. The longer they stayed here the colder it seemed to get— there wasn't much any of them could do other than bandage the injury, and the benefit would have been minimal._

_Omar reached down to help Vic stand on her uninjured leg. "Come on, darlin.' Lean on me and we'll get you back in one piece."_

_She managed a short chuckle, adjusting her wool hat as Omar slid an arm behind her back. "Remind me never to date you, Omar. I end up in the hospital every damn time you come around."_

_The panic Walt had been feeling was beginning to change form, morphing into a hot ball of rage at the sight of Omar acting so familiar with her. What was happening to him? The other man was being uncharacteristically compassionate by Omar standards, and probably wasn't even trying to cop a feel. And yet? The mere idea of Omar's hands on_ _**his** _ _deputy—_

" _Yeah but just imagine how excitin' the sex would be." He winked._

_Scarcely concealed anger spurred Walt into action. Jerking his neck, he motioned to Omar. "Out of the way."_

_The other man tried to protest but Walt took no notice, stepping in and sweeping Vic up into his arms bridal-style. She gasped softly in surprise, arms shooting up to lock around his neck as he steadied her against him. She wasn't heavy, but he cradled her cautiously to avoid jostling her injured ankle._

_Walt spoke to Omar in clipped tones. "I'll take Vic to the helicopter. You grab her things and wait here with the body— I'll be back in a few minutes to help you."_

_Omar shrugged, regarding sheriff and deputy with a raised eyebrow as they turned away from him._

_Her body was warm against him even through their layers of outerwear, and Walt swallowed heavily as he felt her head drop onto his shoulder. The distance wasn't far, but the silence stretched between them like a canyon. Walt made the mistake of looking down to check on Vic, only to find her peering up at him with an expression of confused longing very similar to what he felt himself. Her face was so close, he could see the changeable specks of color in her eyes._

_Walt knew, beyond a doubt, that he was in serious trouble._

_After getting her settled and employing a couple extra emergency blankets to make sure she was warm and comfortable, Walt trudged back up the slight rise to where Omar and the murder victim were awaiting him. Omar was sitting on a rock, forearms perched casually over his knees. At the sight of Walt he rose from his resting place, regarding him with some degree of amusement._

" _Didn't mean to step on your toes there, sheriff."_

" _What are you talkin' about, Omar?" Walt avoided eye contact as the two of them prepared to resume the task of carrying the frozen body._

_Omar's smirk was a bit too knowing. "You and Deputy Moretti. I didn't realize she was your main squeeze, Walt. Thought you'd been datin' that divorced southern gal, Lizzie Whatserface."_

_Walt frowned, ignoring the comments about Lizzie. "Vic's not my anything, Omar. She's married, remember?"_

_Omar replied with a short laugh. "Bet her husband just_ _**loves** _ _you…"_

_**He doesn't,** _ _Walt thought to himself,_ _**and perhaps rightly so.** _ _"There's nothing going on between us."_

_Throwing up his hands, palms out, the hunter shook his head. "Tell it to the judge, Walt. You don't have to explain yourself to me!"_

_Any hopes that Walt may have had that Omar was done sharing his two cents were quickly dashed._

"… _you might wanna let Vicky know, though, if that's the case. 'Cause the way she was lookin' at you back there?" Omar released a slow whistle. "She might not be as married as you think."_

_Walt chose not to dignify Omar's suggestive statements with a response, instead narrowing his eyes and redirecting his attention to the task at hand. Inside, his emotions were reeling. He knew he had feelings for his deputy, strong ones, but he'd done his damnedest to keep them under wraps. The mere idea that Vic could possibly feel the same, the recollection of the way she felt in his arms and how she had been looking at him mere minutes ago? In an abject betrayal of all things reasonable, his heart began to hope._

_x_

Vic's face tilted upward, seeking the contact that they both seemed to crave, but Walt knew he couldn't let this go any further until everything was out in the open. Her lips feathered against the line of his jaw as he drew away, and he gently gripped her shoulders.

"We need to talk about this."

He was afraid she would argue or that his hesitation would hurt her, but she proved once again why she had become his rock. With a slow look she nodded, taking one of his hands in hers and leading him to the sofa.

Once there, he found himself at a loss. There were so many things he needed to say, wanted her to understand, questions he needed to ask. He wasn't good at talking, everybody knew that. More important, however, was the fact that  _she_  knew  _him._

"I can't believe Walt Longmire wants to talk." Vic quirked a brief grin, leaving a small amount of distance between them and obviously trying to set him at ease. "I know this isn't your forte, so why don't I start?"

Walt tilted his head in acquiescence, curious to hear her words.

"I thought about leaving, you know? When Sean beat me to the punch and filed for divorce."

He must have reacted badly to the statement. She reached out to regain her hold on his hand, stroking her thumb over his knuckles.

"For a while I had myself convinced that moving out here was a colossal mistake, and that I should just go the hell back to Philly and leave the bad memories behind." Her eyebrows scrunched thoughtfully. "There were a few days where I thought that was what you wanted, too."

Walt couldn't let that one pass. "No, I—"

She held up a hand. "I know. I know you wanted me to stay, and that helped. But I needed to square it with myself. Needed to have my own reason. It was keeping me up at night, and I don't think I totally understood until the day you punched me."

"I never meant to hurt you." He couldn't stop himself from touching her cheek again, running his fingers over the now unblemished skin.

Turning her face into his hand, she kissed the base of his thumb as it drifted away. "I wasn't kidding when I said that was the best thing to happen to me that week. It was a  _bad_  week, Walt."

They were both smiling then, though he wasn't quite sure why. Perhaps it was just the simple fact that they had survived those days together.

Hesitating for a moment, she raised her eyes to meet his. They were sparkling slightly, the faintest sheen of moisture highlighting the green and gold patches. "In the end it was way easier than I thought, figuring it out."

He waited, heart hammering in his chest.

"There's one reason why I decided to stay here— just one. And it's not because the Absaroka County Fair is home to Wyoming's most prestigious livestock competition."

She moved just a little closer, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. "I stayed because this is where you are, Walt. And where you are is where I want to be."

As they slid into a loose embrace, he pressed his lips to her forehead and held her against his side. Trust her to find a way to say it, exactly what he felt. How could he explain it any better than that?

"You know I don't find this easy, talking about things. But it's important to me.  _You_ _'_ _re_ important."

Her arm was draped across his torso as she nestled into him, head resting in the crook of his shoulder. It seemed she even knew that it would help him get the words out if she wasn't staring at him— she supported him with her touch, and he had hopes they would do a lot more communicating via this method in days to come.

"I've had feelings for you for a long time. Longer than you probably realize— but I can't do this halfway."

She squeezed him a bit tighter, scooting up so that her head was level with his. "You never do  **anything**  half-assed, Walt. It's one of the things I love most about you."

There eyes met and he was fairly certain they simultaneously realized that the L-word was now being thrown around. He wanted to kiss her, wanted to do more than that. He wanted to marry her and have ten babies- maybe even a cat and a dog- and never let her leave his side for as long as he lived, but not until they were finished having this talk.

"You know, for a long time I didn't think there would ever be someone else after Martha died. But then there you were, and I was in trouble from day one. When I met you at the station and you made that dismissive comment about the bullet casings, I was dazzled. Have been ever since."

Walt looked down, somewhat embarrassed at the string of words. He raised his head at the feeling of Vic climbing into his lap, straddling his legs and leaning back so she could peer straight at him.

"Don't clam up now, this is just getting good." The delivery was light, but her expression was tender and serious.

The next part was especially difficult. "If sex is all you want, this has to stop."

Vic slid forward. "That's not all I want."

"I can deal with my feelings as they are. But if I give you everything… there's no going back for me, Vic."

Both of her hands came up to frame his face as she perched in his lap. She was close, but not too close for her intent gaze to lose its focus. Her voice cracked as she spoke. "If you love me as much as I love you, that shouldn't be a problem."

His hands were shaking as he reached out to fold his arms around her. Their lips brushed together as he returned the oath, eyes drifting shut. "I love you so much, sometimes I can barely breathe."

Then, they were kissing. It was fierce, heated, salty— he wasn't sure if they were her tears or his own but they were definitely somebody's, flavoring the kiss with the life-changing nature of their declarations as she pressed against him and their hands began to wander. They broke apart for air and she smiled at him, full-on sunshine, and Walt realized he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her do that. The only thing  _he_  could think to do was kiss her again, so he did.

He kissed her chin, the side of her neck, and the soft skin of her earlobe before capturing her mouth once more. One of her hands traveled over his scratchy cheek and into his hair while the fingers of the other traced along the collar of his t-shirt. Pulling her even closer, one of his own hands brushed against the hem of her top and traced a line along her lower back where it met the black material of her pants.

Vic inhaled sharply as he slid his hand up the back of her shirt, and she wriggled her hips over the growing hardness inside his favorite pair of jeans. Her actions drew a rumbling groan from his throat, and she gripped his shoulder tightly as they rubbed against each other.

"Walt…"

His name, whispered straight into his mouth, imbued him with a strength that was sudden and powerful. He managed to yank Vic towards him while pushing himself up from the sofa at the same time, and she kissed him again as her legs wrapped around his waist. Without hesitation, he carried her toward the bedroom.

Vic raised a teasingly inquisitive eyebrow as he strode past the pizza that had been left untouched on the counter. "Sure you aren't hungry? Shame to waste all of that…"

Walt felt her weight shift, body hot and eager against him. "I'm hungry, but not for food. Pizza tastes better cold, anyway."

**xxxxx**


	5. Epilogue

**Moving Day  
** **Epilogue**

She had watched Walt sleep before, a couple of times. On the cot in the lockup or in the driver's seat of his truck, the very picture of voluntary overwork and interrupted duty. This was completely different; in part because it was Vic's first night in a new home, but mostly because of the way he looked so completely relaxed and untroubled.

 _Untroubled_  would have been one of the last words she would have associated with Walt Longmire over the time that she'd known him, and yet? Here he was, snoozing with his tousled head on her pillow as if he didn't have a care in the world.

It was still not quite morning, but it was near enough that grayish light was beginning to creep through the filmy old-fashioned curtains that she hadn't had a chance to replace yet. Absaroka County was asleep, and the continued silence of her cellphone indicated that there had been no call-outs in the middle of the night that would have required either of their assistance. Propping her head up with one elbow angled over the pillow, she continued to study the man pressed close against her in the bed. He was breathing softly, not snoring, and his eyelashes were surprisingly lush. She resisted the urge to kiss his eyelids.

The solidity of his frame was even more evident with the absence of clothing. Vic smiled slowly, remembering how all their garments had ended up in a crumpled heap on her bedroom floor much,  _much_  earlier in the evening. Walt's frame, plus all his limbs and other… appendages, had certainly been put to good use in the hours since— the tips of her toes were still tingling from the after effects. Vic's investigative instincts had been right on track concerning several topics, including Walt's hidden talents and his sustained energy levels.

They had eventually peeled themselves out of bed long enough to indulge in some cold pizza, he in nothing but his jeans and she in his discarded t-shirt. The salad had sadly wilted and become unappetizingly slimy, so they'd thrown it in the trash. It was too inconvenient in any case, since it would have been awkward for them to eat on the sofa with her bare legs draped across his denim-clad lap. She'd made a mental note to read up on easily shareable finger foods, just for future reference. Once the pizza had been dealt with, needless to say the living room couch became the second piece of furniture to be tested to its limits that night.

Maybe it was a policeman's instinct that caused Walt to awaken under her watchful gaze, or it could have been that Vic had willed his eyes to open so that she could observe the sleep-darkened navy of his irises. Either way, she had the result.

Walt groused. "You know, three out of every one-hundred domestic disputes are catalyzed by one partner disturbing the sleep of the other?"

"It doesn't bode well for you to start telling bold-faced lies this early in our relationship.  _That_  causes the other ninety-seven."

He responded with a quiet laugh, and proceeded to slide a warm hand up to the back of her neck and drag her face to his for a slow kiss. The contact made Vic feel floaty and light-headed, and she pressed closer with one arm resting between his opposite side and his free arm. She was practically laying on top of him, which could swiftly become pleasant on a whole different level.

Some of her hair fell into their faces and Walt paused to brush it away. "What were you thinking about, anyway? Too early to be awake"

Shimmying into an even more enticing position, chest-to-chest with one leg on either side of his body, she briefly considered the answer. "I was just reminiscing over all the housewarming presents you've given me so far tonight."

"So far…?"

Seeking evidence with a targeted roll of her hips, Vic ascertained that her hunch was correct. "Hmm. Seems you've got a gift that keeps on giving.  _Much_  nicer than a fruit basket."

They slid together like water, smooth and easy. Walt's hands guided her hips as she took him in, and she braced her palms on his chest. He arched beneath her, head falling further back into the pillows and exposing his neck and the strong line of his jaw. Vic couldn't stop herself from leaning down to tease his throat with teeth and tongue, moaning against the skin there as the new angle allowed him to drive deeper.

She kissed his lips briefly before returning to a more upright position and rocking against him in a tight rhythm. It was a seductive push and pull, up and down, his fingers gripping with delicious pressure at her hipbone. One of his hands traveled up the plane of her stomach to her breasts, molding the curves of each in turn and rubbing his work-roughened palm over already sensitized nipples. His touch sent bolts of electricity straight to her core, causing the pace to quicken.

"Oh  _God_ —"

A purring groan erupted from Walt's throat as Vic slid her hands forward to his shoulders to better leverage her weight. he was bucking up against her now in counterpoint to her movements, doubling the rapid tension and sending them both past the point of no return. They clung to each other, breathless endearments tumbling out amidst their shared release, hands grasping and stroking as their twining bodies slowed and eventually stilled in a heap of pleasantly tangled limbs.

Vic's face was buried in the crook of Walt's neck, and she caressed the skin behind his ear with the bridge of her nose. "Remind me to send the realtor a thank you card, because I think I'm gonna like this place. Don't you?"

He stared dazedly at the ceiling and smiled, both arms wrapped tightly around her. "Yep."

**x**

Henry was the first to know. He often was, and people were inclined to think he had some sort of mystical sixth sense when in fact he was simply observant.

Walt and Vic had not even bothered to do him the simple courtesy of making him work for the information— he had silently observed the pair one afternoon at the Red Pony when they thought they were sitting alone eating their lunch at the bar, only to notice Vic's booted foot hooked around the side of Walt's calf. The foot stroked up and down slowly, suggestively, and Henry was well enough acquainted with the back of Walt Longmire's head to know— yes, even without seeing as much in the mirror behind the bar— that there was a smile on the sheriff's face.

He found himself smiling as well, ducking out the side door and re-entering from the direction of his office in order that his friends could maintain the secrecy of their new relationship, at least for now.

**x**

Ruby, Branch, and Ferg were next to cotton on, putting two and two together on a maddeningly slow afternoon at the station a few weeks later. Branch had gone for the Wednesday taco special at the Busy Bee, casually observing Walt and Vic as they left the office and headed down the other side of the sidewalk at a brisk pace on foot. Upon his return, he stopped by Ruby's desk.

"Where were those two headed in such a hurry?"

The older woman frowned. "What hurry? They said they were off to follow up on a chicken theft out at Ralphie Jones' farm."

A slow smirk formed on Branch's face. "That's funny, since they were travelin' on foot in the opposite direction of both their vehicles. Right toward Vic's apartment, actually."

Ferg piped up. "Ralphie Jones doesn't even  _have_  chickens on his farm."

"They said they would be out for the rest of the afternoon…" Ruby's eyebrows lifted in understanding, and she and Branch shared a look.

There was a long silence before a still confused Ferg offered, "Do you want me to go see what they're—"

"NO," said Ruby and Branch.

Ferg crossed his arms. "I don't get it."

"I'll tell you later," Branch promised. "It's… not appropriate to talk about while we're on duty."

Ferg chewed on that for a moment, eyes widening. "Oh my GOD, you mean—"

"Shhh!"

Ruby gave both of the young men a warning glare, and the three avoided eye contact as Branch handed out the tacos. Apparently everyone would be having a spicier Wednesday than usual this week…

**x**

Cady walked in on them. It was bound to happen to someone, sooner or later, and clearly she had drawn the short straw.

She'd returned from Denver late on Friday night, bypassing any social calls and heading straight to bed. The following morning, she decided to grab some extra-fluffy croissants from a local pastry shop and bring them over to her father's cabin so they could have breakfast and talk about the progress she'd made with a few lingering aspects of her mother's murder case.

Upon arrival, the door was unlocked as usual. Cady entered, and detected the aroma of coffee and possibly some variety of cooked food item wafting from the kitchen. She saw no need to call out, figuring she'd find her father there, preparing some breakfast or having his coffee. What she actually found instead nearly blew her eyeballs out the back of her skull.

Her father was, in fact, in the kitchen. He was in his usual jeans, with bare feet and an untucked faded chambray shirt. The shocking part was that he was not alone, and most certainly not unoccupied. Deputy Victoria Moretti was with him, hair loose from its usual up-do, wearing nothing but a multi-colored floral bra and what Cady recognized as some of her dad's old USC sweatpants.

The sweats were slung low on Vic's hips, not that Cady could see much more than a sliver of skin since her father had Vic pressed up against the refrigerator with his tongue shoved down her throat. Vic seemed to be giving as good as she got, one hand fisted in the back of Walt's shirt and the other gripped to the side of his neck to pull him closer. Their mouths molded and devoured, and Cady's eyes widened as Vic sucked provocatively at her father's lower lip.

She cleared her throat loudly, suppressing a snort of laughter as the busted duo sprung apart.

"Your eggs are burning."

Never before had Vic looked more like a deer in the headlights. Her eyes darted to and fro, finally landing on the smoking pan on the range top. "Son of a—" Lunging forward, the blonde deputy pulled the skillet away from the heat, prodding the defeated eggs with an unsteady spatula.

"Hi, Dad." Cady raised an inquisitive eyebrow, swinging the bag of croissants in front of her. "Brought you something to nibble on but I see you've already got that covered."

Walt looked so embarrassed, Cady  _almost_  felt bad for a moment. She watched him turn red, trying to align and fasten the several undone snaps on the front of his shirt. "H— Hey, Punk. Didn't know you were back from Denver."

"Got home last night. I've got a lot to tell you…" She looked back and forth between sheriff and deputy, both of whom looked very disheveled and equally as mortified. "…but it can wait. I'll leave the croissants, since your omelette appears to be a categorical failure."

Vic was scraping the remnants of decimated egg into the trash can, blushing furiously. Her father rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous gesture Cady recognized even from the long ago days of her childhood.

"Thanks. I'll, uhhh… call you later?"

"Sure." She paused, taking a moment to digest the meaning and magnitude of the situation she was witnessing. She didn't want them to think she disapproved— she most definitely didn't. It was a surprise in some ways, but made total sense in others. In all honesty Cady had started to wonder about the two of them, especially after that day at the Red Pony when she'd watched Vic tend her father's wounds. But how could she let them know it was okay without actually saying it? How could she show that she knew how important this was?

She made slow and deliberate eye contact with her father. "So… I guess this means I don't have to worry about you taking care of yourself as much any more?"

His lips twitched into the briefest of grins. "Umm… nope?"

Looking between her father and his— she hunted for the right word— girlfriend? Lover? It was hard to classify, so Cady stopped trying. She just looked between them one last time, nodded, and turned to leave. Neither of them could have seen the smile break out on her face as she hopped off the still-unfinished porch, but Cady was okay with that, too. After all, it would be fun to make the two of them squirm, at least for a little while.

**x**

_Approximately One Year Later_

"Where are we?"

Vic already felt nervous, riding behind Walt with her arms wrapped tightly around his midsection. Horses simply weren't her thing— she wasn't scared shitless of them the way she was with snakes, but their temperaments just didn't seem to suit. In this she seemed to be the polar opposite of the man she loved, who always had even the wildest of steeds eating straight from his hand.

She wondered, in a way, if that wasn't an appropriate analogy for their relationship. Vic was willing to admit that Walt Longmire had her well and truly tamed, and never for a single second had she regretted it.

For a long moment he was quiet, gently stroking one of her hands where it rested against his ribcage. The meadow around them was ripe with the grasses and wildflowers of late spring, threatening to break into summer with the heat from the sun in a cloudless sky.

"This is Martha's place."

"Oh…" She wanted to say more, but she couldn't see his face. He managed to save her from the awkwardness by smoothly dismounting and offering a hand to help her down. He knew she sucked at getting off the horse even more than getting  _on_ , so one hand turned into two steady arms, which didn't bother Vic at all.

Walt left one arm around her, slowly casting his gaze over the green expanse. "I wanted to bring you here before this, but," his eyebrows knit thoughtfully. "It never seemed like the right time. Today did, though. It was a year ago. The day I… well, you know."

"Wow. I mean… Walt. I—"

"You don't have to say anything. It might sound stupid and selfish, but it's for me more than you. That okay?"

Her eyes welled and her love for him grew even deeper, if that were possible. She squeezed his arm. "It's okay. More than okay."

Vic reached up to touch his face and guide his eyes to hers. "I'm glad you still love her, Walt. I mean, shit. I feel like…" She trailed off, smiling through her tears.

A familiar thumb dragged across her cheek to wipe the tears away. His voice was low, slightly throaty. "Like what?"

"Like you'll always love me, too."

Walt's expression lightened, displaying the serene quirk of a grin that Vic was lucky enough to see on the rarest of occasions when he knew beyond a doubt that she truly understood him. He dipped his head, shielding them both with the brim of his hat as their lips brushed.

"I will."

**xxxxx**  
FIN  
 **xxxxx**

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you have comments or thoughts about this-- I am still very new in the Longmire fandom, so I'm getting the hang of characters and such. Feedback appreciated!


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